The Challenger
by ruth baulding
Summary: One of the Order's more difficult personalities pays a visit to the Temple - and issues a challenge. Featuring the Besalisk Jedi Pong Krell. Revised, with an extended fight scene!


1

Jedi Knight Pong Krell had four arms.

Four arms, and just as many saber blades to complement them. The handles of his chosen weapons were enormous – oblong cylinders adapted to their owner's gargantuan hands. Their green blades hummed menacingly in the dojo's still morning air.

"Well?" the massive Besalisk growled, flourishing two of the saber blades in a dizzying figure eight pattern. "Which of you so-called _senior_ Padawans is up to a match?" The reptilian Jedi's throat sack swelled outward with his words, bloating his neck and pushing the edges of his wide lips into a cold smile.

Obi Wan Kenobi looked up hopefully at his mentor.

"No," Qui Gon Jinn said, without bothering to make eye contact.

"Yes, master." He was a trifle disappointed. The spectacle of the four shining blades was strangely mesmerizing. And the words of challenge had been nothing short of galvanizing. Obi Wan thrust his hands into opposite sleeves and calmed his breathing.

Qui Gon spared him a fleeting look. "We shall find another salon," he announced, and led the way out without a backward glance at the impressive Besalisk and the handful of eager Jedi students who had volunteered to spar with him.

By the time the pair had reached a smaller arena, several levels down and a long walk across the north-facing concourse, the Padawan's face was set into a deep frown. A sharp line appeared between his eyebrows and his blue eyes shone with a fierce light.

"I am capable of facing him," he told his master's back.

Qui Gon waved open the door to the practice room, which was empty and smelled musty, as though the cleaning droids had not recently tended to the wooden floorboards or the scorch-marred walls. "Facing whom?"

"Master Krell!" the young Jedi exclaimed, annoyed that his mentor's thoughts had strayed so far from his own, in the course of a short ten minutes. "I am not intimidated by his four-bladed style. Four weapons, but one mind. The match would still be one against one."

"Hm." The older Jedi dropped his cloak in a pile by the door. "One fool against another. Indeed."

Obi Wan's mouth snapped shut in displeasure. The remark hurt, but he knew better than to display unseemly emotion. He placed his own cloak beside Qui Gon's and walked to the center of the small, white-walled chamber. His footsteps echoed dully against the ancient, polished wood floor. "I'm ready," he said, when the tall Jedi did not immediately join him.

"I've decided to change our routine this morning," Qui Gon informed him. "Instead of saber drills we shall practice the Standing Stone kata."

"But,master-"

"Yes?" The tall Jedi's tone was a sharp warning.

Obi Wan ground his teeth and dropped his eyes. "I …am not well acquainted with the form," he amended hastily, swallowing the initial hot protest that had sprung to his lips.

"Really?" Qui Gon replied dryly. "I was under the impression that our youngest initiates learn it by heart. Were you by chance somehow excepted from this lesson by the crèche masters?"

"No, master. I remember it."

"Good. Let us begin, then."

The kata was among the simplest of its kind, an exercise in rooted balance and patience. They stood upright, facing forward, bare feet hips' width apart. Slowly the right foot rose, bent and tucked in at a sharp angle to rest against the opposite thigh. The arms rose, the spine shifted to center the weight over the left foot. And they froze, holding the pose with perfect stillness.

"Count to five hundred," Qui Gon breathed.

His apprentice sighed, and wavered slightly.

"Five hundred," the master repeated, implacable. If they held each pose in the long series for this grueling duration, the exercise might well last two hours. "The practice is much needed, I think."

"Yes, master," his Padawan groaned, softly.

* * *

><p>"You should have been there, Obi. The fellow is a menace. He whipped <em>seven<em> people running. Master Bondara had to step in to stop the carnage, and even he had a time of it."

"Carnage," Obi Wan repeated dubiously, using the Force to surreptitiously steal his friend's last remaining semmi seed roll. "In that case, I'm happy not to have been there."

Garen Muln laughed and folded his arms across his chest. "Always looking on the dark side. _You_ would have given that barve a run for his credits."

His companion looked scandalized by the disrespectful reference to a full-fledged Knight. "Garen!"

"Lecture me later. I'm going to set you up for a duel against Master Krell. He needs to come down a few pegs, and you're the man for the job."

But Obi Wan shook his head obstinately. "I don't think so. And Master Jinn would not approve. He has made that much clear."

Garen narrowed his grey eyes. "He doesn't think you can handle it? After all you've done on missions together? After the tournament two months ago?"

His friend shrugged. "Perhaps."

Seeing that it was time for a subtle change of tactics, Garen thrust his two hands behind his head and studied the dining hall's gently curved ceiling. "Wonder if all

Besalisk are all such huge chosski."

"No, they aren't," Obi Wan answered readily, thinking of the affable and intelligent Dexter Jettster. "Though perhaps they are all _huge."_ Certainly Dexter must weigh at least four times as much as he; and the reptilian's impressive girth seemed to have expanded a trifle each successive time they met.

Garen Muln let a low whistle out between his teeth. "Tell me," he agreed. "Master Krell's built like a gundark."

"Size matters not."

"Says the _lightweight,_" Garen snorted, nearly falling out of his chair in a desperate twisting dodge away from the lightning quick strike aimed at his shoulder.

A stern glare from the older diners at another table brought the two Padawans' incipient tussle to a halt. The young men inclined their heads apologetically, and resumed eating in a subdued manner.

"I'll arrange the match," Garen Muln promised, in a low tone.

"No," Obi Wan insisted. "I won't defy Master Qui Gon's wishes in the matter. Don't try to convince me again."

"Coward."

"Warmonger. Barbarian. Tempter. Delinquent."

Garen Muln held up hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I won't say another word about it. On my honor."

* * *

><p>But there is always more than one means to any given end, and Garen Muln was not lacking in subtlety. Two mornings later, practically before sunlight had broken over Coruscant's unvarying horizon, the door chime broke the pre-dawn silence in Qui Gon Jinn's quarters. If the tall, maverick Jedi master was surprised to see the massive figure of Pong Krell darkening his doorstep, he certainly gave no outward sign.<p>

"Good morning," he greeted the unexpected visitor with a short bow.

The Besalisk Knight clasped both pairs of hands before him and returned the gesture of respect. "Master Jinn," he growled in his deep, rasping voice. "I am sorry to disturb you at such an early hour."

Qui Gon silently moved aside and motioned the other Jedi to enter. The Besalisk ducked slightly and turned sideways to fit smoothly through the door. He cast his glinting eyes about the few pieces of furniture which filled the spare common area, and finally selected a flat meditation cushion, his great weight pressing the compact object into a shape resembling a Corellian flapjack.

The Jedi master sent a repressive look toward his Padawan, who had emerged from the second bedroom and was gazing at the flattened cushion with a tell-tale tightening at the corners of his mouth, a familiar sign of barely suppressed mirth. "Obi Wan," he ordered crisply."We will share morning tea with Master Krell."

The reptilian Jedi craned his massive head around to peer at the young man. "There you are," he remarked. "I've heard much about you, Padawan Kenobi."

"Nothing good, I hope, master," was the dead-pan reply. Obi Wan bowed deeply and excused himself to fetch the tea.

Krell returned his gaze to Qui Gon, a grumble of dissatisfaction burbling in his throat. "I would never tolerate such levity in my own Padawan," he said with a wag of the head. "But I suppose that's your own disciplinary problem."

"A jest is preferable to a complaint, nine times out of ten," Qui Gon replied mildly.

The Besalisk chuckled wetly, his throat sack bulging. "Actually, Master Jinn, I've come here with a complaint. Rumour has it you've been hiding this talented apprentice of yours away. Anoon Bondara says he won the Seva tournament last year, with …ah…panache. Why haven't I seen him in the dojo recently?"

Obi Wan returned with the tea cups, and solemnly handed them round, Master Krell's enormous fingers curled delicately about the ceramic bowl, dwarfing it. Qui Gon sipped meditatively at his own cup.

"Obi Wan is recovering from an old knee injury aggravated during our last mission to Halifex Minor. He won't be able to benefit from your instruction in the dojo, I'm afraid."

Krell sighed, the breath escaping between the twin walls of his sharp teeth. "That's a damn pity. I was just thinking the latest crop isn't showing much promise. I'd hoped you might prove me wrong," he boomed at the Padawan. "Ah, well, an injury is a weakness for which you can't be blamed."

The young Jedi looked to Qui Gon for some further cue. Receiving none, he merely bowed his head again. "I am honored by your interest, Master Krell."

The Besalisk grunted and surged to his feet in one powerful motion, his four heavily muscled arms gracefully bending about his mighty torso. " I've taken too much of your time. May the Force be with you." And with that formal phrase, he took his leave, as abruptly as he had come.

"My knee is fine, master."

Qui Gon raised his eyebrows. "The healers wanted you in for a final check-up this afternoon. So, from a certain point of view, you are still recovering."

The Padawan was far too experienced to broach an argument regarding any one of Qui Gon Jinn's many "certain" points of view. He wordlessly finished his tea and prepared for morning meditation.

* * *

><p>"That all seems to be in good order," Senior healer Bento Li observed. "So long as you don't repeat the stunt which landed you here in the first place."<p>

"I have no intention of ever riding an Utapauan saurodon again, " the Padawan assured him. "At least, not a female in heat."

The silver haired healer was unamused. "And none of your star-forsaken Ataru form acrobatics in the dojo, either, for a while, if you don't want to overtax that ligament. I've had three other senior Padawans in here just this week, after sparring with Master Krell."

Obi Wan was intrigued. "That seems a bit excessive."

Master Li waved the door of the examining room open and escorted him down the hallway. "Knight Krell is- and you will forgive my forthright opinion – a devotee of the excessive. There are very good reasons he is assigned to lengthy journey missions and makes his way back here but once every cycle or two. "

Interesting. "I don't understand, master."

BenTo Li cocked a bushy eyebrow, undeceived by the innocent tone. "Hm. Let's just say the Council wishes to keep the trail of casualties out in the Rims, rather than here in the Temple. I wholeheartedly concur. Good morning, Padawan."

Thus dismissed, and left in possession of a stern warning against his preferred combat style and a fascinating piece of …well…_gossip,_ Obi Wan found himself drifting instinctually toward the dojo once again. He slipped inside the upper observation deck of the largest salon, and peered with curiosity at the spectacle unfolding in the gleaming white space below.

Pong Krell was holding court again, it would seem. His sharp remarks and scathing criticisms – all delivered in a singular baritone voice that bounced and multiplied off the unadorned walls – were directed at a small group of older students and Padawans gathered for what appeared to be an impromptu dueling lesson. Garen Muln was among this determined but bedraggled company. Obi Wan lounged against the railing, feeling a spring of mild amusement bubble up within as he watched his lifelong friend subjected to the ignominy of a very thorough defeat at the hulking Besalisk's four hands.

"Curiosity killed the gundark," a familiar, mellow voice remarked behind him.

"Master!" Qui Gon Jinn had inexplicable and complete cognizance of his apprentice's whereabouts at any given time – and he chose to display this weird power on the most inconvenient occasions.

"That's not a gleam of longing I see in your eye, is it, Padawan?" the tall Jedi inquired.

"No, master…I was merely indulging a whim." Obi Wan dropped his gaze. "Did you require my presence?"

"Apparently, I do," was the dry response. "You can help me with a little research project in the archives, since your time is not better occupied."

"Yes, master." The young Jedi turned his back on the duelists below, conscious that he _did _feel a pang of longing to test his own skills against the formidable Besalisk, and also painfully conscious that this was a desire he might never be permitted to sate. With a small sigh he followed Qui Gon's broad back out of the observation balcony and down the adjacent concourse. A derisive bark of laughter from Pong Krell echoed faintly behind them.

* * *

><p>Sunset was beautiful, a riot of golds and pinks which did not fade gently to night but clawed their way across Coruscant's sky with ferocious tenacity, refusing to surrender until darkness utterly banished them. Qui Gon and Obi Wan watched in silence from an upper level window, as was their custom.<p>

"Let us speak of Master Krell," the older man suggested when the scene had finally succumbed to full night, the lights and traffic of the city beyond obscuring any trace of stars overhead. "He has captured your attention, Padawan."

"He is hard to miss," Obi Wan ventured, striving for lightness.

They set off down the wide corridor side by side. Other Jedi passing by kept a polite distance, respecting the age old privilege of a master to instruct his own student. "Yes," Qui Gon agreed. "And for that reason, he is capable of posing a considerable distraction. I sense your thoughts wandering toward him often. More often than is warranted. Am I right?"

Deception was out of the question. "Yes, master. I would like an opportunity to spar with him. He has practically begged for one himself."

"Yes, I noticed."

"But I will respect your wishes in the matter," Obi Wan hastened to add. "I haven't sought him out, and I won't."

Qui Gon laid a hand on his shoulder briefly. "I know this. Yet I sense some resentment in you, as well. Do you know _why_ I think this proposed encounter is a bad idea?"

They passed into a broad central court and descended a short flight of steps. Columns rose to left and right, in matched pairs. "Not exactly, master."

"Then tell me what you have speculated or guessed –" Here Qui Gon held up a hand to forestall objection. "We both know you have spent a good portion of the last week brooding upon it."

"Very well," his apprentice said tightly. "Possibly you consider my skills insufficient. I might be hurt, when we are on standby for a mission. I might reflect poorly on you or your teachings. I might be discouraged by the experience and lose focus on more important things. I might –" He stopped, aware that his mentor was quietly chuckling to himself.

"Obi Wan," the tall Jedi said. "I anticipate none of these dire outcomes. Nor do I consider your skills insufficient. Quite the opposite. I do not want you to fight Pong Krell for one simple reason: because _you_ so badly want to do so."

They had reached the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the Temple's vast arboretum and meditation gardens. Obi Wan halted dead in his tracks, realization dawning. "Forgive me," he said, simply.

Qui Gon motioned him forward again. "A Jedi never acts on such impulses. Especially with a saber in hand. You may engage Master Krell at will so soon as you overcome the childish _desire_ to fight him."

"What about you, master? You have not yet sparred with him, either."

"Who says _I_ don't want to teach that arrogant lizard a well-deserved lesson, hm?"

For a moment, Obi Wan could only gape. When he did laugh, Qui Gon joined him heartily. They wandered further into the lush gardens, in companionable silence.

* * *

><p>"Supreme Chancellor Valorum has requested my presence at a diplomatic function on Vandor. As you know, the Council sees fit to indulge his whim in such matters."<p>

"How long will you be gone, master?"

Qui Gon tossed his datapad onto a decidedly small heap of items in his satchel. "Overnight, I expect. You have training and studies to occupy yourself, but I've already called Dexter and told him to have a house special waiting with your name on it. He'll be expecting you for dinner – it would be cruel to disappoint him."

The Padawan snorted. "You've asked him to keep an eye on me." It did not escape his notice that a dinner appointment would also keep him conveniently absent from the Temple at precisely the hour when most of Master Krell's unofficial saber competitions were held.

"Somebody has to, as I discovered long ago." The tall Jedi strode to the door and paused to give one last instruction. "I'll be within comm. distance, but outside an emergency I think an interruption would be highly impolitic."

"Yes, master; I'll try to avoid any emergencies."

"There is no try." The hem of Qui Gon's cloak nearly caught in the door as he exited.

Left to his own devices, Obi Wan found that the day passed slowly, and that he was more than ready to eat the proverbial nerf when the late summertime sunlight outside began to fail. He dutifully left the Temple precinct by the most convenient public transport air-tram, and arrived at CoCo town some forty minutes later just as the evening commuter crowds were dispersing. The familiar mercantile plaza was almost empty, Dexter's gleaming polychrome Diner shadowed by the multi-storied office buildings to either side.

"Hey!" the boisterous owner of the eatery shouted when the Jedi entered. "It's about time! We were just gonna close and give up on yer sorry _toobagah_. "

The young Jedi shrugged in apology and submitted meekly to the Besalisk's crushing embrace. Dexter's four arms had the combined power of a hydro-compactor, but he somehow never managed to actually break his guests' ribs.

"Now, you jist sit down there and I'll fetch us some grub. Starvin, myself." Dex hitched up his sagging trousers as he ambled off into the kitchens. Soon his booming voice could be heard shouting orders at the cook staff. A few bangs and hisses later, he re-emerged bearing a laden tray. "Here we are," he grunted, shimmying his way into the booth opposite Obi Wan. "Feast for a king. Or a Jedi."

"More like three or four Jedi," Obi Wan remarked, eyeing the vast quantity of food his host had provided.

The Besalisk waved one enormous hand and chuckled wetly, his throat sack ballooning out in mirth. "You need some meat on those bones o' yers. Qui Gon ain't feedin' ya properly, an' he knows it. Thas' why he sent ya here, I'll wager."

The deep fat fried topas were delicious. "He sent me here to keep me out of trouble, Dex. Perhaps not the wisest decision," Obi Wan smiled.

Dexter's laugh shook the window, and brought a nervous hoverbot zooming over to their table, searching for the source of the disturbance. "Nah, not his wisest plan ever. What's the latest gossip from that Temple o' yers?"

"No gossip," the young Jedi frowned, with mock severity. "Jedi don't gossip. Though you might be interested to learn that I met my first Besalisk Jedi the other day."

The massive reptilian was delighted. "I'll be damned! A Besalisk Jedi! Hard to believe…we ain't known fer our calm temperaments an' subtlety, as a whole."

"Master Krell isn't known for those traits, either," the Padawan admitted slyly, eliciting another chuckle from his friend. "He's deemed something of a holy terror in the dojo. He wields four sabers at once."

Dexter flexed his hands, experimentally flourishing four imaginary weapons. "Yeah, I can imagine," he grinned, displaying his alarmingly sharp teeth. "We're hard to take down, too. Gotta know right where to hit us."

That had the young man's attention. "Where, Dex?"

The Besalisk leaned forward conspiratorially and pointed one thick finger at the swell of flesh directly beneath his throat sack. "Right there, ol'buddy. Nerve plexus, that is. Like me kickin' you in yer asteroids. But you'll never get in close enough," he added sagely. "Don' even think about it."

Obi Wan took an enormous bite of the greasy slider on his plate, savoring the delicious burst of flavors despite the inevitable indigestion to come. "I'll do my best not to think about it," he promised Dex.

After all, he would never have the chance to use the knowledge.

* * *

><p>Or so he thought. The following morning he found himself quite literally <em>cornered<em> by the towering reptilian Jedi. Helping himself to some hot tea in lieu of breakfast – Dex's cooking having wrought havoc on his insides all night – Obi Wan turned to find the Besalisk blocking his passage, all four arms folded behind his back and one heavily crenellated eyebrow-ridge raised in a most disapproving fashion.

"I'm insulted," the huge figure boomed out, attracting the notice of most the refectory's occupants.

Off guard, and at a loss to remember how he might have offended the Knight looming so menacingly above him, Obi Wan fell back on polite evasion. "I'm sorry, master, I don't quite-"

"Bantha turd!" Krell grumbled, his voice rolling deep in his throat. The sack swelled and deflated angrily. "I comm. you with a private invitation and you don't even show enough respect to respond."

The Padawan flinched. He had neglected to check the comm. unit for messages last night – his postprandial discomfort posing a considerable distraction. He had missed Krell's message entirely. This time his apology was sincere. "I meant no offense, Master Krell, I assure you. I was remiss in checking the comm. last night and –"

"Remiss!" the Besalisk snorted. "I know a snub when I feel one. You can tell Master Jinn that I don't appreciate his lack of courtesy."

That was crossing an invisible but very real line. "This has nothing to do with my master!" Obi Wan retorted, hotly. Heads were turning in their direction now, but he didn't care. Nobody was going to question Qui Gon's honor in front of him and expect him to meekly accept the rebuke. "Neither he nor I have intended any offense or insult."

Krell leaned down, his moist breath wafting over the Padawan;s face. "So you _do_ have some spirit in there," he chuckled. "I wondered where you were hiding it all. Tell you what. I'll renew the invitation. Private exhibition tournament, in one hour. Master Bondara will referee, and don't bother about that knee of yours. I checked with the healers myself."

Obi Wan clenched his jaw.. For the first time since reaching the status of senior Padawan, he cursed the relative freedom that gave him no ready excuse: no scheduled classes, no training or assigned research other than that he independently chose, under Qui Gon's direction. He bowed. "I would be honored to watch the tournament, Master Krell. I shall be there."

The Besalisk drew himself up to his full height, muscles rippling as he crossed both pairs of arms over his chest. "I'd like you to participate," he rumbled.

"I'm sorry, but I must abide by Master Jinn's wishes in the matter," he said.

Pong Krell snorted and turned his back with a dismissive gesture. Many pairs of eyes followed him as he proceeded across the busy dining hall and out the wide double doors.

Obi Wan watched his retreat, too. _I don't want to fight him, because that's precisely what I want. I wish to fight, and therefore I must not. I should not. I will not. _The whole situation made him a little queasy. Or perhaps that was just a lingering after-effect of the sliders.

* * *

><p>"Hello there. Didn't expect you to attend," Garen Muln murmured.<p>

Obi Wan pressed his back against the wall, blending into the small crowd at the training room's periphery. "I'm just here to observe," he insisted.

Garen raised skeptical eyebrows but said nothing. In the center of the floor, Anoon Bondara was explaining the rules of engagement and listing off the names of those enrolled in the tournament. Apparently Pong Krell was to take on the Padawans in selected pairs, as a demonstration of tandem dueling techniques.

"Because one on one isn't a fair match," Garen muttered. "Blast him."

The tournament began with the promised exhibition: Krell and Master Bondara faced off against each other, the Besalisk wielding his pair of twin-bladed weapons, and the swordsmaster choosing to complement his customary saber with a shorter version, the _shoto_ or dagger-blade for reverse-gripped double fighting. The ensuing demonstration of skill was spectacular; and many of the gathered students felt a surge of relief. Anoon Bondara, at least, was capable of holding his own against the impressive reptilian. The match ended with no clear winner, and the two duelists bowed politely to one another.

"Saberplay may be an art or a form of meditation," Krell boomed at his audience, "But it's first and foremost a practical skill. Which of you is prepared to learn something new and valuable?"

The first appointed team of older Padawan stepped forward and saluted the Besalisk Knight, expressions both determined and hopeless. Obi Wan watched intently, distancing himself from the emotional overtones of the scene. Krell was an accomplished warrior, his style possibly unique in the Temple. It would be foolish indeed to waste this opportunity to learn from the famous swordsman, even if he would not be able to participate directly. Pong Krell, he perceived, was able to occupy almost the entirety of the imagined sphere which surrounded any combatant. His four glowing blades literally swept across vast arcs of this invisible globe with blinding speed. His reach was almost twice that of an ordinary human, and his defense therefore nearly impenetrable. To attack him was to attempt a siege on this mighty, luminous orb of motion woven by four separate and deadly weapons. But if Qui Gon had taught him anything, it was this: that every strength is also a weakness. Discovering this hidden deficit was often a matter of changing one's point of view. If _only _one could find the right perspective…

"Insane," Garen commented on the progress of the various matches. "Going up against this guy is suicidal. Maybe you're the only sane one here, Obi."

Krell dispatched all of his opponents in quick succession. Nobody was able to move in past his defenses; he was simply too huge, too fast, too _much. _"Ah," he bellowed. "You! Kenobi! Let's see what you're made of."

The challenge elicited a palpable ripple of anticipation from the others. Anoon Bondara's steely grey eyes flicked over to the Padawan standing discreetly at the back of the salon.

"I'm sorry, Master Krell. I do not wish to fight you this morning."

The Besalisk crossed the space between them on four enormous strides, his saber hilts still clutched in two of his broad hands. "Since when is Jedi training a matter of personal wishes?" he roared. "All your peers have applied themselves diligently to this lesson. Let's see you do the same."

"No, master, I've already explained to you my reasons. I am very sorry, but it is not possible."

Anoon Bondara stepped forward. "I have never known you to decline such an invitation before," he said reasonably, addressing Obi Wan directly.

"I do not want to fight Master Krell," he stated again, very clearly. To his own surprise, he found that it was true. He did not want to fight. He was too tired from his bout with food poisoning, too zealous to obey Qui Gon's directive, and too annoyed by the constant demands that he oblige the visiting Knight's whims.

"You have not told us why," Master Bondara pressed him.

The young Jedi shook his head. "Master Jinn was explicit in his advice on this matter."

"And what was that so-called advice?" Krell snapped, eyes glittering.

_That I should not fight you until and unless I no longer wished to fight you…_ Obi Wan blinked. Well. That changed matters. "That I should exercise restraint and show you mercy," he replied flippantly, already feeling the Force coiling about him, within him, lending strength and speed.

Pong Krell laughed aloud and sprang backward into the center of the floor with a mighty leap. "Bold words, Padawan!" he roared. "Let us see if you are worthy of them!"

Anoon Bondara placed himself in a position to observe the match and signaled its start.

Krell immediately brought his fearsome array of saber blades into vibrant life, spinning the two glowing staves in a dizzying sphere about his body, advancing aggressively. Obi Wan retreated, cautiously, keeping distance.

"Come now," the Besalisk grumbled. "What's this backpedaling nonsense? Are you a Jedi or a Twi'Lek dancing girl?"

The Padawan smiled. "You haven't landed a hit, yet, Master Krell."

Perhaps it was not the most prudent thing to say. The huge Knight lunged, forcing his opponent to leap backwards. The four blades sizzled and screeched discordantly as they swept into walls and floor, in an overpowering attack. Obi Wan blocked and parried at desperate speed, only now realizing the extent of Krell's skill. The Besalisk swept at his feet, forcing him to jump, while simultaneously directing a disc of spinning plasma at his head. Obi Wan flipped backward, miraculously avoiding the backswing of the upper stave, and found his feet stumbling beneath him as both Krell's weapons slammed against his raised guard.

_Focus,_ he berated himself. Four weapons, four opponents. He had fought two opponents at once; he had fought _three_ opponents at once. He had faced off against hordes of foes, fighting in unison. But not like this – even a Jedi team fighting in tamdem lacked the absolute precision and coordination of Krell's four handed assault. He blocked, parried, evaded, blocked again, slipped out of a bind only to find the second whirling stave coming at his midriff. He dropped to the floor, feeling the singe of heat across his chest and stomach as Krell missed him by a hairsbreadth, rolled away, sprang up and hit the wall hard.

"Not so cocky now, eh?" the implacable Besalisk shouted, his lips bared to reveal all his toothsome glory. Like Dexter's, his expression of glee was subtly horrific.

Obi Wan shook his head, sending a few irksome drops of sweat spattering off his nose and forehead onto the floor. The sphere of light and motion bore down on him again, a ringed defense even more impenetrable than he had imagined. The air was laden with the scent of ozone, the Force with battle tension. He backed away again, his eyes taking in the dimensions of the room, the height of the roof above.

Krell broke rhythm and plunged forward, striking hard and fast. Obi Wan dodged and twisted away, caught one blow on his saber and leapt over the second. On landing he sprang again, summoning the Force to his aid. The twisting backflip over Krell's head was familiar, perfect – his own specialty. The sensation of a saber blade whizzing too near his right foot was not. Even as he turned his body in the descent, he caught a Force-borne glimpse of the second blade coming to intersect his landing. Awkwardly, on sheerest instinct, he jerked his own weapon out of its perfect position and blocked the blow, completely missing his landing and wrenching his knee badly as he slammed back to the floor.

Hissing in swiftly repressed pain, he rolled away from a severing sweep of Krells' two blades and stumbled to his feet. The reptilian Knight's eyes narrowed with comprehension. Here, in the arena of battle, the Force held no secrets. The Besalisk knew of his opponent's weakness. The next blurred volley of strikes were all aimed at the laboring Padawan's knee and thigh, hammering blows which barely left him room to move, to defend against the crushing onslaught. Spectators scattered and regrouped as the fight burned its way across the dojo's floor, from corner to corner.

Eyes stinging and streaming with sweat, knee protesting loudly that BenTo Li would _not_ be pleased with his performance, Obi Wan reached deeper into the Force, grasping at its light and strength as his own dwindled beneath the powerful storm of Krell's unremitting attacks. He saw the sphere of motion, the flawless curve of Krell's defensive circle, the breadth and the furious speed of its periphery. He saw failure there. And then he saw beyond it….the hint of another possibility...

The Besalisk made a leap himself, springing off a nearby wall to plummet down upon his victim like a thranctill dropping out of the sky. Obi Wan slashed upwards, striking at his feet, but the twin blades were already there. He took Krell's full weight on his blade and found himself smashed almost to the floor. A deadly line of light carved across his vision as he somersaulted backwards out of range, nearly winding himself in the process. AN instant later he was up and retreating again, his heart throbbing against his ribs. Too close, too close.

There had to be a way. Qui Gon always said so…_The Force will show a way. A solution will present itself._ Panting, half-limping, he retreated yet further, like a foxill cornered by hunting hounds. Krell stalked after him, blades singing in an elaborate, confident flourish. He felt a breath of cooler air against his leg. The exit. The Force glimmered with a dazzling light, The exit. The way out of this duel.

He ducked beneath the threshold, still retreating one cautious backward step after another, the newly re-injured knee trembling mutinously.

"No you don't!" the Besalisk growled. "You aren't running away from this!" He plunged into the corridor in pursuit of the retreating Padawan.

"No…I'm not," Obi Wan agreed, abruptly rolling forward under his opponent's next strike and coming up inside the furious circle of the reptilian's spinning blades. He crouched, blocking awkward blows aimed at his head and shoulders; but the cramped space inside the corridor hampered Krell severely. His two long weapons barely cleared the walls, and his head nearly brushed the ceiling. His movements were limited, while his much smaller foe's were not. Blocking two more clumsy, restricted strikes and pivoting on his heel, Obi Wan neatly feinted left, right, and smashed the pommel of his saber into Krell's neck just below the throat sack.

The Besalisk Jedi gasped in pain and one of his weapons clattered to the floor, deactivated. Obi Wan swiftly cut backwards, down, and around, slashing the second stave out of its owner's hands. Krell staggered one step back, his Force presence alight with an uncommon fury and blank surprise.

"End match," Anoon Bondara's calm voice cut through the stunned silence. "Padawan Kenobi is the victor."

Krell heaved a few unsteady breaths, one hand massaging his injured neck. "By the Force," he hissed between sharp, gritted teeth.

* * *

><p>Qui Gon Jinn arrived back at the Temple much later than he had anticipated. At an hour rapidly approaching midnight, the hangar bay was empty but for a few straggling maintenance bots and one lone Padawan dutifully waiting to greet him.<p>

He crossed the polished decking with a grave expression, waiting patiently while the young man made him the customary short bow before speaking.

"Well? What have you to say for yourself, Padawan?"

Obi Wan colored slightly. "It is a long story, master."

Qui Gon grimaced. "As always." He strode forward to the interior doors, noticing that his apprentice fell into step slightly to his left and two steps behind, in the traditional position of deference. The tall Jedi deliberately slowed his pace, forcing them into proximity again. "Let us skip to the last chapter, in which you explain why you chose to disregard my explicit instruction with regard to Pong Krell."

"I heeded your instructions, master. I fought him without the desire to fight."

Qui Gon waved the hangar doors open and led the way into the passage beyond. "I see. And why the sudden change of heart?"

Obi Wan frowned slightly. "It was either the Force's guidance, or Dex's abominable cooking. I might never be sure."

The Jedi master met this impertinence with a stern expression, but his features soon smoothed out again. "Master Bondara was very complimentary in his assessment of the match. But I must say, punching a Besalisk in the glottalis is considered dirty fighting. Where did you learn such disreputable tactics?"

The Padawan grinned. "From another Besalisk."

Qui Gon released a breath of resigned laughter. "You are aware that the Council has – rather abruptly - sent Knight Krell away again, on another extended journey mission in the Rims?"

"No; I am sorry he left before I had a chance to see him again. I hoped to make peace…do you think he will harbor ill-feeling, master?"

Qui Gon pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It is difficult to say," he admitted. "Pong Krell is a _challenging_ character."

But the worry proved unfounded. When the pair returned to their shared quarters, yet another comm. message from the Besalisk Jedi was waiting for them.

"Master Jinn," Krell's unmistakable voice ground out from the hologrammatic display. "I owe you an apology and my thanks. I nearly despaired of our upcoming generation this time round…but I should have known you were hiding a trick up your sleeve. That boy of yours is brilliant. Worthy of his teacher. I hope our paths cross again in the future, on the same side of a fight. May the Force be with both of you."

And with that, the image of the massive reptilian Knight faded into the air.

"Well," Qui Gon smiled. "If anything untoward happens to me, I think Pong Krell would be honored to take over your apprenticeship."

Any prideful feelings the Padwan might have been enjoying a second earlier were immediately swept away on a tide of alarm at this prospect.

Qui Gon chuckled delightedly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't fret," he reassured his stricken apprentice. "You won't be seeing him again for a long while."


End file.
